The Mercenaries of the Stolen Moon Read online

  Myra swallowed. "You seem remarkably intense for something as simple as dinner. Is something wrong?"

  "No, but something has been weighing on my mind," Charlaine said. "Come on, I don't want dinner to get cold."

  Myra followed him to the table, heart beating rapidly in his chest, and took his usual seat. Wine had already been poured, a dry gold they both favored. The spicy scent of curry filled his nostrils, making Myra groan as his hunger finally made itself known. "You're my favorite, Charlaine."

  Chuckling, Charlaine sipped his wine and ate more slowly, seemingly content to watch Myra enjoy the meal.

  Though Myra had hoped the food would revive him, with every bite his eyes grew heavier, until he was doing more yawning than eating all through the dessert course.

  "I think it's time you went to bed," Charlaine said, finishing his wine and setting the cup aside. Pushing away from the table, he pulled Myra to his feet and nudged him toward the bedroom.

  Myra yawned again. "But you wanted to tell me something, and—"

  "And it can wait until tomorrow. Go to bed."

  Myra started to protest again, but at a last admonishing look surrendered. "As you wish, then. But you will tell me?"

  "I will."

  "You'd better." Myra stepped in close to hug Charlaine tightly, enjoying as always how big and warm and strong he was. Like as long as he was close, the rest of the world would never be able to interfere. Myra hadn't recognized the feeling the first time it had swept over him. Hugging was one of the Harken customs he'd found most disconcerting when he'd first arrived. Most Harkens, especially those in Harken Kingdom itself, were extremely tactile, and the Triumvirate very much was not. He'd nearly stabbed people the first few times it had happened. "Sleep well, my friend."

  "And you." Charlaine smiled and stepped away, nudged him toward his room once more, and only after Myra closed the door did he hear Charlaine leave.

  What had all that been about? Was he completely addled by exhaustion or had Charlaine been different tonight? Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, short of chasing Charlaine down and demanding answers. Myra did not have the energy for that. He would simply make certain Charlaine talked to him tomorrow.

  Removing his jewelry and clothes, Myra snuffed the lamp a servant had left lit for him, climbed into bed, and fell immediately to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Charlaine beat his head against the wall for the five thousandth time. Try as he might to distract himself and think of other things, all he'd been able to focus on all day was how completely and utterly he'd turned coward and fled the night before. Instead of behaving like an adult and telling Myra he would like to try being lovers in addition to friends.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered.

  "Who are you calling stupid this early in the day?" asked a cheerful voice.

  Charlaine looked up and smiled as he saw Terrag, Captain of Fathoms Deep. "Myself. What are you doing all the way over here, Ter?"

  "Hiding from His Grace, who is still on the warpath after yesterday's debacle. No longer being High Commander gives him time aplenty to put all his energy and exacting nature into Fathoms Deep, and after yesterday…let's just say I hope he doesn't find me." Terrag dropped down onto a nearby bench and motioned for Charlaine to join him. When he had, Terrag knocked shoulders congenially. Unlike most soldiers, who kept their hair cut short, Terrag's hair fell to just past his shoulders and was heavily threaded with wooden and stone beads carved with various animals and flowers, an affectation from the mountains of Gearth where he'd been born. "He'll find me soon enough, but I'll take however many minutes of peace I can manage."

  Charlaine chuckled. "Fathoms Deep has had better days."

  "We've had worse too," Terrag replied, stroking his long beard, which was nearly as decorated as his hair. "So why are you calling yourself stupid?"

  Shrugging, Charlaine said, "Merely frustrated with my own inability to act."

  "You? Usually my problems with you involved making you not take action."

  "War is a far simpler matter than this mess I've gotten myself into," Charlaine said. "I think all this newfound free time is bad for me."

  Terrag snorted. "No, it's good for you. The sensation is just so unfamiliar that you're panicking, rather like you did the first time we—"

  "Don't say it."

  "Threw you off a cliff."

  Charlaine sighed and gave him a look. "I was fourteen." He'd been a fresh-faced cadet, only days finished with the juvenile training he'd been going through since he'd been fostered to the imperial army at ten. Terrag was a sergeant then, not yet part of Fathoms Deep. Whatever family he'd lost or been denied because of his birth, Charlaine had found in the military. He and Terrag had worked together, in one capacity or another, for a long time. When Terrag had joined Fathoms Deep, he'd asked Charlaine to come with him, and Charlaine had agreed immediately. "Am I ever going to stop being teased for that?"

  "Don't ask stupid questions. You hit the water with a splat that echoed all the way to the Penance Gate. At least you got it right on the second try. Most have to take that test at least four times. Now enough avoiding the matter at hand. What is this about you hesitating to act?"

  "It's a bit more intimidating than a long drop," Charlaine replied. "I'll muster up eventually."

  Terrag stared at him, gaze pensive and too-knowing, mouth quirked faintly. "Uh-huh. Who has my stoic former lieutenant smitten?"

  "None of your Pantheon-damned business," Charlaine said.

  "You may as well tell me. I'll have it from palace gossip before the week is out."

  Charlaine scoffed.

  "You're Lord Kamir's bodyguard, and he is the second most talked about subject in the palace. Do you really think you're still immune to gossip? You're not my shadowy third in command anymore." He punched Charlaine's thigh lightly. "No matter how much you wish you were still invisible, you're not. So let's have it."

  Heaving a sigh, Charlaine said, "Myra."

  "Oh, really?" Terrag's brows shot up. "All this time or is this a recent development?"

  Charlaine shrugged and looked at his hands. "I have the time to act on it now. Just not the courage, apparently."

  Terrag laughed and nudged his shoulder. "Have a stiff drink first."

  "The wine didn't help last night," Charlaine muttered.

  "Wine. Please. I said a stiff drink, boy. Or you could stop sulking and overthinking and just go speak with him now. I think Their Majesties are occupied, and Lesto is busy looking for my head, so take the opportunity while you can." When Charlaine didn't stand, Terrag slapped his thigh sharply. "Move it, soldier."

  "I'm not one of yours anymore. Also, ow." Charlaine heaved to his feet though and clapped Terrag on the shoulder in gratitude. "Good luck with Lord Lesto. If you die this day, we'll see you're given a magnificent pyre."

  "Don't let my wife and sire throw His Grace on it."

  Charlaine laughed and clapped him on the shoulder again before departing.

  He was nearly to the imperial offices when the hurricane himself came storming down the hallway, no less intimidating for being in ornate court clothes rather than his armor and uniform. "Lieutenant. Have you seen Captain Terrag?"

  "No, Your Grace, I've been in the art gallery most of the morning."

  Lesto huffed. "Thank you, anyway." He strode off, and Charlaine slumped in relief. Terrag owed him.

  Presuming Lesto had believed him, anyway, and it was always a gamble. Usually a gamble everyone lost, but occasionally luck favored them.

  He resumed walking but was almost immediately waylaid again as someone crashed into him. "Oof. Oh. Merry morning, Jac."

  Jac's brown skin flushed rose as she stared up at him. "My apologies."

  "No worries. You didn't knock me to the ground like the last halfwit." Or 'accidentally' slam into him in a crowded hallway, like Kamir's mother had. She'd managed to leave a bruise, but she'd also been convinced not to try anything like that agai
n. One would think after their first confrontation that she'd have already known better, but the woman was as stupid as she was mean. "What has you running about so? You're usually more observant."

  She was, in fact, dangerously observant. Immediately after her appointment as Allen's primary bodyguard, Lesto had assigned Charlaine to observe her and determine whether or not she was in fact suited to the duty. But watching her unobserved had proven to be more difficult than he'd anticipated; she'd spotted him on no less than three occasions, though he'd been able to contrive reasons he was around that allayed suspicion. His final report to Lesto had received a grunt, which was high praise indeed.

  That should have been the end of the matter, but Charlaine had, for whatever reason, always continued to notice Jac on the odd occasion their paths crossed.

  His words just brightened the flush, which was cuter than it should be—and definitely not something Charlaine should be making such note of. "It's stupid. There's someone I want to ask to tea, but I'm fairly certain they'll laugh in my face or pat me on the head or something." She huffed. "No one really takes me seriously outside of the Dragons and High Consort Allen. I think even His Majesty and Lord Lesto are ever watching for an excuse to replace me with a proper bodyguard." She shook her head, making a face. "Sorry, none of that is your problem. Don't tell Lord Lesto."

  Charlaine laughed and gripped her shoulders. "We're coworkers, aren't we? After a fashion, anyway. You can always vent to me. As to your current worry, it seems to be a morning for such matters. I do not think anyone would laugh in your face at a request to go for tea. But if that is what you expect, then you're already braced for the worst, so what is there to fear? Better to ask and be turned down than to never ask."

  Jac smiled. "That is very true. Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll stop taking up your time now."

  "Take it, by all means," Charlaine said. "I hardly know what to do with it. The last time I had leave, it was one day, and I spent it doing personal errands. What do people do when they have several days of nothing?"

  "Some sleep through it all." Jac laughed. "I certainly did, back when I was in training, and then later when I applied to the Dragons. I think half the mercs I know take whatever money they've saved up and go spend every last pin of it on booze and whores." She grinned and winked. "I've heard that can be fun."

  Charlaine lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I am well past my 'booze and whores' days."

  Her grin turned teasing. "Why Second Lieutenant, I'm shocked you had booze and whore days."

  Giving her a playful shove, Charlaine said, "I'm not that married to my job." At the look she gave him, he grumbled, "I wasn't. Plenty of people have no interest in sex, but I'm not one of them. I'm usually only interested in people I already know well first, but I was as bad as any merc on leave in my day."

  "In your day." Jac snorted and swatted him. "You sound like you're approaching eighty—you can't be more than forty, if that."

  "Forty-two, no need for flattery," Charlaine drawled. "If you're looking to curry favor, good old-fashioned bribes work fine."

  Jac laughed. "The Penance Realms will welcome sunlight before a Dragon needs a favor from Fathoms Deep—even one who's Shattered Wind now."

  Charlaine gave her another shove, then asked, "So where are you headed?"

  "To the imperial offices."

  "So am I. May as well walk together. Not working today, I take it?"

  Jac shook her head. "No, since I'm going to be working the whole festival, His Majesty bid me take a couple of days off beforehand. It was generous of him."

  "The High Consort is exceedingly generous from what I'm seen." Charlaine snickered softly. "Except to his spouse when His Majesty has done something wrong again."

  Jac muffled her giggles with one hand, but most of them spilled out into the hallway anyway. "I'm—I'm certain I don't know what you mean."

  Charlaine grinned but said nothing further as they reached the hallway that led to the imperial offices. They were lined with Fathoms Deep guards who would be certain to spread tales of anything he said further regarding Their Majesties.

  The office was unusually quiet when they arrived. Myra was the only secretary present, and over in the sitting area was Sarrica, Allen, Kamir, and Jader—and their baby, not quite two months old. Charlaine smiled at Myra, who briefly returned it before bending back to his work and ventured into the circle. Kamir looked up with a warm smile, eyes rimmed with exhaustion but as bright and happy as Charlaine had ever seen them. "Merry morning. Don't tell me you've already run out of things to do?"

  Jac snickered, but at his look, closed her mouth before she could voice whatever smartass retort she'd come up with.

  Turning his attention back to Kamir and Jader, Charlaine replied, "Not at all. I didn't know you were here. How are father and babe?"

  "Wandering around despite admonishments to stay put, from me and the healer," Jader said, but his grumbling was undone by the adoring look on his face as he stared at the baby in his arms.

  Kamir rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. I've done this before, and I'm much better off now than I was at nineteen."

  Jader shifted his gaze from babe to father then, and the look they shared made Charlaine feel like he was intruding. He shook his head and withdrew slightly, looking up in time to see Sarrica smiling fondly as he looked over the group. Allen, in the chair in front of him, was bent over some papers muttering to himself.

  Charlaine opened his mouth to tease Kamir, but the word tea caught his ear, spoken in Jac's familiar voice. He turned, curious to see the object of her interest.

  His heart dropped into his stomach as he saw her standing over Myra's desk, a flush to her cheeks and a happy smile on her face. Myra looked equally pleased and more than a little surprised.

  Jac had wanted to ask Myra to tea? Charlaine didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That was what he got for being a coward.

  "—Charlaine?"

  Charlaine snapped back around and stared blankly at the group, who were all watching him. "What? My apologies."

  "I asked if something was wrong," Kamir replied, frowning and tilting his head. "You looked upset."

  "No, I'm fine. My thoughts got away from me. I should probably be going, though; there are errands I need to run before the day grows too hot."

  Kamir's frown didn't vanish, but he nodded. After bowing to Sarrica and Allen, Charlaine fled the office.

  He'd only just reached the hallway when Myra called his name. "Damn it."

  Myra came through the door, mouth turned down. "Why did you leave so suddenly? I thought you were coming to tell me whatever it was you didn't get to tell me last night. Instead you left without saying a word."

  "I—" Charlaine stopped, recalling that happy look on Myra's face that Jac had asked him to tea. How selfish and mean would it be of him to ruin that? Myra was his friend; nothing would ever change that. He would get over his disappointment. It was his fault for not asking last night when he damned well should have. "It's nothing. A moot point. You looked busy, so I thought I'd get out of the way. I wasn't trying to ignore you."

  "You're lying," Myra said. "Don't make me—"

  "Myra!" Corrint poked his head out of the office. "Sarrica is looking for you."

  Groaning, pressing his fingers to his temples, Myra said, "I'm coming." When Corrint had vanished again, he jabbed a finger into Charlaine's chest. "We are speaking later, you and I, and I want to know what you had to tell me that you're now refusing to. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, Majesty."

  Myra jabbed him again, then turned sharply around and practically ran back into the office.

  Charlaine fled back to his own rooms, which were all the way across the military pavilion in the officer barracks of Shattered Wind. He'd lived in the Fathoms Deep barracks for years, and still was not used to living in a different set of rooms. Nothing was the same, everything felt and smelled and looked so different that sometimes when he woke in the dead of night he was confused at fi
rst, even if on the surface one barracks looked much like another.

  There was also the strange limbo that came from having been Fathoms Deep for almost all of his military career, and now he was Shattered Wind. Most considered it a step down, even if he'd taken his rank with him, and weren't certain how to treat a man who would give up the prestige of Fathoms Deep for an oddity like Shattered Wind.

  Charlaine had always admired Shattered Wind, however. Not every mercenary group needed to be as flashy as Fathoms Deep or as notoriously brutal as Penance Gate. Shattered Wind had certainly never deserved all the mockery and disdain they were subjected to—or had been, until they'd returned from Benta and become Jader's informal guard, and Jader considering Captain tel Mendi a close friend.

  Also, it was far less stressful answering to Captain tel Mendi and Commander Jader than it had ever been reporting to Terrag and Lesto, but he wouldn't be saying that aloud, even on pain of death.

  Several fellow mercs lifted hands and called out greetings. Charlaine returned them but didn't linger to chat, his steps not slowing until he was finally alone in his room. They weren't much, just a bedroom and a front room, but it was more than most soldiers saw. If he occasionally thought about what it might be like to live in the palace proper, with an entire suite to himself or to share with a lover…

  He certainly could live in the palace if he chose. All he had to do was say something to Kamir, who would ask Jader, who gave Kamir everything he wanted and then some. Why anyone thought that marriage was anything but a love match was beyond him. It only took looking to see that Kamir thought Jader hung the stars and that Jader thought Kamir was the moon.

  But Charlaine was not going to abuse his friendship with Kamir, unexpected but deeply treasured, for something as mundane as fancy rooms. What would he do with them? He'd spent most of his life in tents, on the ground, or at inns—both good and some requiring he shave everything to get rid of the vermin. What in the world would he do with fancy palace rooms, even if he could afford them these days?